Holly Madison (Sins of the Father, 2) (4 page)

I give myself a once-over in the mirror at the latest purchase I picked out specifically for tonight.  Tristan wants sexy?  He’s going to get sexy.  I’m already running a little behind schedule.  My bed is covered in clothes that are strewn haphazardly all over it.  Even though I already have a clear idea of what I want to wear, I still felt the need to try on every article of clothing I own.  Just in case.

I check my reflection one last time to make sure that not a single hair is out of place, my makeup is daring, and my cleavage is bare just enough to leave a hint for the imagination.  Not like he hasn’t seen the goods already.  I am sporting an electric-blue tank with spaghetti straps, white capris, and my favorite black, knee-high boots.  I applied just the simplest amount of makeup.  I have never had to wear a lot of makeup.  Just a little bit of eye shadow, some mascara, and gloss.  Since it is summer, I’ve been spending a lot of time out in the sun, so I don’t need blush or bronzer.

At six o’clock, there is a knock at the door.   When I open it, the sight of him almost takes my breath away.  He is in a nice pair of jeans and a black, button-up shirt, the top two left undone to give just a peek at his chest tattoo. He is beautiful, handsome… No, no.  He is sexy.  Straight-up, all-out, holy-shit kind of sexy.  My heart rate takes a hit and jacks up as he walks into the apartment and kisses my cheek before handing me a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Oh my god.
  He is pulling out all the stops for this date. 

“Hey, cupcake.”  He flashes his lopsided grin and I feel it straight in my belly.  

“Hi.”  I smile back at him.  “Let me go put these in water and I’ll be ready to go.”

Tristan nods, and I head to the kitchen, snag a vase from over the refrigerator, filling it with water.  I peel the cellophane
from the flowers, neatly placing them in their new home on the top of the breakfast bar.  I’m still arranging the flowers when I catch his reaction to my outfit. 

He rounds the bar, wraps me in his arms from behind, and whispers into my ear, “Your ass looks amazing in this.”  He sucks the bottom of my earlobe into his mouth and my eyes roll back in my head.  Then he swats my ass and says, “Come on.  Let’s get this date started.”

I lock up the front door before dropping my keys into my purse, and we make our way out to the parking lot.  Tristan puts his hand in mine and leads me to his motorcycle. 

Ummm…what? 

He hands me a helmet and commands, “Hop on.”

“I’m not getting on that thing.  We can take my car.” 

Oh my god.  He picked me up for our date on a motorcycle.  I examine the helmet that he placed in my hand, trying to think of how the hell to get out of this.  Maybe I’ll tell him that I am coming down with something?  I have to wash my hair?  I forgot that I had offered to volunteer for the nuns to feed sick orphans and—

“You’ve never been on a bike before, have you?” He smirks up at me from the seat.

“No, and I don’t plan on getting on one tonight.”

“What’s wrong, cupcake?  Live a little.”  He grabs me, pulling me close, and growls, “I like the fact that you’ve never been on the back of another man’s bike.”

“I won’t be getting on the back of yours either.”

“Get on my bike, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be on my dick later.” 

Did he just say that?  I mean, seriously?  What guy says that to a girl he is trying to impress?  Well, I guess a guy who has already test-driven the merchandise. 

I nod to a helmet that is dangling from the handlebars.  “That your helmet?”

“It sure is.”

“You do realize how small it is, right?”

He looks at me skeptically.  “Yeah.”

I shrug.  “Wasn’t sure that you could squeeze your big-ass head into it is all.” 

Tristan’s head hangs low as he chuckles.  Then he grins up at me, orders me to put the helmet on, and says, “Climb the fuck on.” 

I give in and do what he said. 

He slips his helmet on and I am shocked that he can fit his big-ass head into the damn thing.  He starts the bike, which comes to life with a fierce rumble, turns to me over his shoulder, and waits while I secure the helmet and straddle the seat behind him.

I’m not sure what to do with my hands now that I’ve taken the leap and actually hopped on.  I rearrange my purse so that it is strapped across my chest and place my hands on my thighs, rubbing them nervously.

“Cupcake, I’m gonna need you to wrap your arms around my waist and hold on!” he yells over the loud purr of the engine. 

I do what I’ve been told, but I do so lightly, gripping his shirt at the sides.

“Tighter!”

I tighten my arms around him, clasping my hands at his abdomen, and hold on for dear life while I rest my feet up on the pegs that are so generously provided for me.  The bike jerks forward, and before I know it, we’re veering onto Main Street.  I feel my body relax after a few minutes.  This is amazing.  It’s a gorgeous summer evening.  The adrenaline rush kicks in as the wind hits my face.  This is what being free is like?  I could get used to this. 

I’m lost in the beauty of the experience when I notice that we’re coming to a stop.  Tristan turns the bike off and kicks the stand, taking off his helmet and placing it on the handlebars.  I take mine off, handing it to him.  Then I remove myself from the seat and run my fingers through my hair, trying to bring it back to life. 

He leans over, kisses my forehead, and throws an arm around my shoulders.  “Don’t worry about your hair.  You look great.”

He motions to the door of Caro Mi, a restaurant nestled in the foothills and right on the banks of the Pacoulet River, which makes for a beautiful, rustic setting.  It is a small place owned by one of the local families.  This is hands down one of the best places to get a bite in Tryon if you want something with a little more class.

I’m still riding my high from being on the back of the bike.  I hope that Tristan plans on taking me out on it more often, but I don’t dare tell him that yet.

He removes his arm from my shoulders, opens the door, and places a hand at the small of my back, guiding me into the restaurant.  I feel a bolt of electricity sail through my spine at that one simple touch.  My body is humming and craving more of him.  After a few moments of waiting, we are seated in the far back by a window that gives a stunning view of the foothills.  No matter how long I’ve lived here, I can never get over its beauty.

I shift my gaze from the outdoor scenery to Tristan, who I am shocked to see is watching me intently.  “What is it?” I ask.

“You are stunning.  Never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do right now.  Fresh off the back of my bike and you look like you’ve never experienced anything better in all your life.” 

I ponder this for a moment.  He is absolutely right.  I have never experienced anything more exhilarating than being wrapped around this strong man’s body while he navigated us through the streets on his Harley. 

“You’re right.”  I nod.  “I don’t think I have experienced anything like it.” 

He rewards me with a boyish grin and, yes…the dimple.  God, he is hot and that smile could easily do me in.

When the salads arrive, I stab some lettuce with my fork.  “So, what got you into MMA?” 

Something flashes in his eyes, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it, but then it’s gone as quickly as it came. “I got into a little bit of trouble growing up that sent me to juvenile hall for a brief stint.” 

This surprises me.  He seems so straight-edge—minus the occasional beer I have seen him drink, but even that is rare.

“When I got back home, Pop gave me an ultimatum.  Get my shit together and lay off the drugs or I was heading to military school.  He’d already made the calls and was just waiting to see what he was going to have to do with me.  I decided to get my shit together.  So I wandered into the Y one day and met a couple of guys who were training.  They took me in, showed me the ropes, and before I knew it, I was training myself.”

“So you decided to open the studio and the rest is history?”

Tristan chuckles.  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Well, I never understood why people turn to drugs.  There are better ways to work through your shit.”  Oh. My. God.  Did I just freakin’ say that?  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”

He watches me for a beat.  “You’re right.  It was a few years after my mother died and I wasn’t handling it all that well.  I got mixed in with the wrong crowd.  At the time, it numbed the pain.”

 I am such a bitch.  “I’m sorry about your mother.  I heard through Emma that you all had lost her.”

“It’s okay.  It was a long time ago.  Time heals wounds—“

“But leaves scars,” I interrupt.

“That it does indeed.”  He nods affirmatively.

“Holly?” I hear a very familiar voice call out and immediately want to crawl under our table and hide.

Oh no!  No, no, no, no, no!
  My eyes slam shut. 

It’s bad enough that this evening is going so well.  I was letting him get to me, wearing me down—now this?  Maybe, if I keep my eyes closed, she won’t see me. 

Yeah, that’s a logical way of thinking.

My eyes betray me in time to see Mom and her best friend Kitty sauntering up to our table.  Earlier, When I told her over the phone that Tristan was taking me out to dinner, she remained silent until I prompted her to speak.  I was afraid she had passed out with me still on the phone.  Then, all I got was an, “Oh my. Just wait until I tell Kitty.”  Well, it looks like that was the first thing she did when we hung up with each other. 

They are two peas in a pod.  Always together.  Always arguing over silly things, yet never mad enough to end their relationship.  Now that I think about it, they’re more like an old married couple, and they keep me entertained for the most part. 

Tonight, not so much.

“Look who is here, Kitty!  Can you believe our luck running into these two on their date?” That was Mom in all her glory, showing me off to her friend.  Well, showing her friend that her daughter has a bona fide date with one of the town’s hotties. 

“Hi, Mom.” 
Someone smother me.

“Oh my!  You were right, Lizzie.  He is a hunk.”  That was Kitty.  Not a subtle bone in her body.

“Hi, Kitty.” 
Someone shoot me.

“I know.  Look at him,” Mom responds. And then, just when I think it can’t get any worse, it does.  “He’s a big, strong fella, isn’t he?  If the two of them stick together, can you imagine how good-looking my grandbabies are going to be?”

Kitty shakes her head in approval, lowers her voice, and utters, “Even an old gal my age could show him a thing or two.”

My forehead hits the table, the silverware and plates clink, my mother gasps, and Tristan roars with laughter.

May lightning strike me dead.

“Well, our food just got here, so we should eat,” I announce to the three of them like I am in the middle of the room on a soapbox.  I’m fairly sure that the entire restaurant heard me and is now staring. 

I look at Tristan, whose eyes have turned a lazy, funny, amused sort of way.  His eyelids droop, the corners of his mouth turns up in a smirk, and his dimple shines in all of its glory. 

Oh my.
  That is the one thing all of the Holt men share.  The killer dimple—in Jake’s case, two killer dimples.  Melting panties since they learned how to use it to their advantage.  

“Oh my,” Kitty gasps.  “Did you see that dimple, Lizzie?”

My life—end it now.  Someone? Anyone? 

Mom shook her head vehemently.  “We should leave them to their supper.  Don’t want their food to get cold.”

Hallelujah! 
There
must
be a god.

“Holly, child.”  Kitty flips her thumb over her shoulder in Tristan’s direction.  “He’s the hottest one I’ve seen you with yet. Don’t screw this up.”

Nope.  I was wrong.

“Kitty!” my mother shouts.  “My daughter is so pretty that George Clooney would settle down and beg her to marry him.  Beg. Her!”

If I were lucky, a great white shark would lunge out of the river and swallow me whole.  I know they don’t swim in rivers, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

“Honey”—my mother again—“you look absolutely gorgeous.”  She bends to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Mom.”  I extend my hand across the table.  “Since a proper introduction clearly wasn’t in the cards where you two are involved—Mom, Kitty, this is Tristan.”

My mother drops my hand to shake his, Kitty giggles, and Tristan smiles.  Full on and dimple ablazing. 

“Well, our food’s going to get cold.” I try to usher them away, but that isn’t in the cards for the time being either. 

“Holly tells me that you’re running that gym in town.  The one where all of those big, strong fellas go to whoop ass,” my mom says as I start to jab my fork with the food on my plate.  That is until it hits the plate with a clank as I stare down at it in dread, bracing for whatever the hell is about to come out of their mouths next.

God must be on vacation.

Clearly, my mother has already forgotten that her daughter is on a date and her food is getting cold.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tristan replies, taking a fork to his food, scooping it into his mouth, and turning a closed-mouth smile to me.

“Have you ever been in a fight like those men on TV in that ring where they pummel each other to a bloody death?” Kitty excitedly asks, passing Tristan the basket of bread in an offering, which he gladly accepts.

“Once or twice.”

Kitty’s eyes go round as she clutches her purse.  “Did anyone die?”

“No, ma’am.”

A look of disappointment flashes across her features.  “Ever beat someone near death?”

Tristan spreads butter on his bread, his eyes sliding to me and then to Kitty and Mom.  “No, but I’ve broken bones, knocked a few out, and given a few concussions in my day.”

“Whoa.”  That was Mom and Kitty together.

My heart skips a few beats at the thought of Tristan being in that ring and getting hit by someone as big as he is, if not bigger.

“Ever had any broken bones or a concussion?” Kitty carries on, even more thrilled than she was previously.